


set fire to my bed

by Devral



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: But he's Deadpool!, Dubious Consent, M/M, Switch Wade Wilson, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade chooses death quite a few times, fuck or die spell, he gets one, switch peter parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devral/pseuds/Devral
Summary: If Wade were to pick “Most Likely to Attack Him Due to Comments About Their Ass,” the witch and her sex-curse wouldn’t have been at the top of his list.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 40
Kudos: 477
Collections: Isn't it Bromantic?





	set fire to my bed

**Author's Note:**

> I have soooooooo many people to thank for this fic! I've been working on it for the last 10 months and without the endless help I've had, it most likely never would have seen the light of day. 
> 
> From the top! 
> 
> TheDevilOnioah and DramamineOnTopOfMe as the first to tell me how awesome this idea was.  
> TimidTurnip for being the first to beta for me (and remind me that the idea was still awesome).  
> WaterMe for doing the final beta and pushing me to actually finish the thing,  
> and last but not least, heymell, for helping me come up with a title and a summary. It REALLY wouldn't have seen the light of day without those!  
> And thanks as always to all the lovely people over at the Isn't it Bromantic 18+ discord server. You guys are the best!

The door flies open with a bang, the already substantial hole in the wall crumbling further under the impact. 

Wade’s stumbling through before the doorknob even hits plaster, fumbling at the straps of his suit and trying to kick the door shut behind him. His frantic entrance sends him sprawling, and he lands hard on his knees. He hangs his head, trying desperately to breathe through the heat and pain throbbing through his body. A shudder runs over him and he tips sideways, curling over himself and trying not to whimper.

It shouldn’t matter. There isn’t anyone to hear him except the voices in his head, and who are they going to tell?

Another shudder wracks through him and this time he gives in to the urge to whine. The sound cracks through the silence of his apartment, and once he starts he can’t make himself stop. Wade Wilson isn’t generally the type to think too hard about his actions, but he has to admit he’s starting to feel something that he thinks other, less reckless humans, might describe as ‘regret.’ 

It had just been a joke! Why did magic users have to take everything so personally? All he had done was ask the witch to turn a little so he could appreciate New York City’s second-best ass a little better, no way had he deserved to be  _ cursed! _

_ ‘Pleasure burns to take men under,’  _ what was that even supposed to mean?

Wade’s whimpers trail off into heavy pants as he starts struggling with his suit again. Despite the soft lining, every tiny movement has the suit scraping like sandpaper against his skin and he feels like his blood is boiling.

“Goddamn fucking sonofabitch!” Giving up on pulling the suit off, he pulls out a knife and starts cutting it away, heedless of the blade nicking his skin. Blood barely has time to well up before the cuts seal, and the pain is lost under the rush of the curse. 

Snarling, he finally manages to rip away the last of his suit. He flings the knife away with it, curling back over himself. With single-minded purpose, he wraps a hand around his hard and aching cock. Desire is boiling under his skin, trying to tear its way out of him, and he knows if can just get—

With a yelp, he rips his hand away. “Fuck! Shit, goddamn.”

The touch of his own hand feels like fire on his skin. He looks down at his cock, fully expecting to see healing burns. There’s nothing. His cock looks just as it always does, even if it’s harder and angrier than usual.

The lust hasn’t died down, and it’s almost more painful than his touch had been. He brings his hand back down and has to bite back a shout. His own touch burns but it still feels better than the unrelenting throb screaming through his cock with every beat of his heart. 

He freezes. That’s it. Every beat of his heart. 

The thought has him scrambling to where he threw his clothes, digging until he finds one of his guns buried in the pile of scraps and weapons. 

A sob of relief wrenches through him as his shaky hand pulls it free and brings it up to press against his temple. Sweet relief. 

**_*BANG*_ **

Wade’s head jerks with the force of the bullet, blood and brain matter spraying out. His body slumps sideways, gun slipping free of his fingers as he collapses. 

* * *

Between the migraines and the hallucinations, waking up from a death is never a fun experience. This time, though, is even more of a shitshow than usual. 

Death hadn’t done what Wade hoped. The curse is still screaming through his body, his cock hard enough to cut diamonds and his balls aching and tight. His skin still crawls with sensitivity and he can’t help but sob as he curls in around himself. 

The smell of blood is heavy in the room, almost suffocating as he wraps his arms around his knees and presses his forehead against them, smearing them with tacky blood. 

“Fuck!” he snarls. Death didn’t do anything to soften the curse. It’s not any weaker and, in fact, he feels even more like he’s going to boil right out of his skin, waves of heat rolling down his body. 

That bitch couldn’t really have been telling the truth, right? 

_ ‘Pleasure burns to take men under, death will be yours without the touch of another!’ _ Her words echo mercilessly in his memory. Without the touch of another… No fucking way! He doesn’t exactly have anyone on speed dial, and he’s not going to  _ force _ someone to touch him. He’ll just weather this shit out on his own, like he does with everything. It’ll be fine. 

The voices echo in his head, his ever-unwelcome companions, derision dripping from their words. They’re right, of course. His principles aren’t going to make a difference to his current situation, anyway. Who would ever want to touch him? 

Maybe a toy won’t hurt like his hand does around his cock. He can only hope and pray.

Hauling himself to his feet, he makes his unsteady way toward the bedroom, tripping over nothing halfway there and falling into the hallway wall. Breathing heavily, he leans there, fire still rushing through his veins. He doesn’t know how long he zoned out against the wall, but it’s long enough that the blood still coating the side of his face is dried and flaking off against the wall as he pulls away and continues his slow, agonizing drag down the hallway.

Wade can’t seem to grasp time. With every movement he makes, the world swims around him, bringing into sharp focus the throbbing of his cock and the fire crawling over his body. Even the brush of air from the overhead fan has agony shivering over his skin. 

Collapsing on his bed, he fights the urge to curl around himself. Yanking the drawer out of his side table, he dumps the contents on his bed and grabs the fleshlight. Pushing the rest haphazardly to the floor, he gives the toy a squirt of lube and brings it to his cock with trembling, hesitant hands.

Relief surges through him as he eases it down. It doesn’t hurt. 

“Fuck, yes,” Wade can’t help the whimper that slips from him as he fucks up into the slick grip of the fleshlight. It feels fan-fucking-tastic. And for a few moments, the cool slickness of it is enough to cool the burning. Pleasure is tightening his stomach as he pulls it over himself quickly. Hopefully an orgasm is all he needs to break the curse. 

The hope is short lived. 

When the burning starts up again Wade does his best to ignore it, continuing to chase his pleasure. It feels like he used Icy Hot instead of regular lube, a tingle tickling over his dick. However, any idea of pushing through to that sweet, sweet orgasm is knocked straight out of his head when one more full pull of the fleshlight over himself has the tingle becoming a flashfire.

“Fucking son of a bitch!” 

Crying out at the pain, he chucks the toy across the room hard enough to leave a dent in the wall. His cockhead is an angry purple, and streaks of burning, angry red are visibly healing before his eyes. 

Time passes in a haze of agony and blood. He has no idea how long it’s actually been. Hours? Days? Maybe it’s even been weeks. There’s no way for Wade to know or guess, not from his position face down on his bed. 

Centuries later, he’s so worn out that he can’t even bring himself to reach for the gun tucked under his pillow. It’s not like it even helps. He’s killed himself over and over, hoping to escape the endless, desperate throbbing in his cock and balls and the screaming, burning pain still running over his skin every time he accidentally touches himself. 

He had tried again with the fleshlight, but the burns on his cock were even worse the second time around. Trying to pull an orgasm with his own hand is also completely off the metaphorical table. Every time he tries to touch himself with his own hand, both his hand and his cock feel like real flames have erupted between them. The last time he tried, his hand had been burned down to the bone. 

After nothing but the heavy sounds of his own pained breathing and groans for the eternity he’s been laying here languishing in agony, the knock on his window breaks through the room like a gunshot. 

Flailing out of his bed, he hits the floor with an anguished grunt. Popping his head back over the side of the bed, he gives the window a suspicious look. He’d never bothered to open the blinds in this apartment, a fact which he's now regretting. 

“Hallucinations must be starting now,” he mumbles. He drags his exhausted body back up onto his bed and flops over on his side, back to the window and the newest spread of blood, bone, and brain matter. It was recent enough that the mess hadn’t had a chance to dry, and he still has enough of his mind to know he doesn’t want to lay in that wet spot. Even if he’s obviously out of it enough to be hallucinating, he still has  _ standards, _ dammit.

Except just as he manages to gingerly settle himself, the sound of knuckles on glass echoes through the room again. 

He turns his suspicious glare back onto the window but he can’t summon enough energy to cross the room and actually look. It doesn’t matter anyway. Wade knows it’s just his brain fucking with him. There’s no one who would come looking for him.

Jobs came through Weasel, who almost never left his bar. He got the occasional text or phone call from the X-Men, but it’s not like they were friends. They definitely didn’t drop by his place. Hell, Wade was pretty sure he had never actually told anyone where he was staying since he’d moved safe houses a few months ago. 

The sound comes a third time. Stupid hallucinations never know when to quit. 

“Go away!” Wade’s voice is as firm as he can make it. All things considered, that’s not very firm, but it is hopefully enough to scare off any more imaginary frenemies. Those things come from inside his head, anyway. 

When the knock comes a fourth time, it’s accompanied by a muffled voice. “Deadpool?” 

Why do hallucinations never listen? 

He flops an arm over his face, huffing in pained frustration. Maybe if he ignores it long enough, his brain will get the message and leave him alone. If nothing else, he can see the reassuring glint of his gun half under the pillow next to him. He’ll just lie here until he gains enough energy to kill himself again. That will hopefully reset his brain so that at least he’ll have new and different hallucinations. 

“Deadpool, I’m coming in!” 

Wade lets his head roll back over, looking at the window with interest. This is one persistent hallucination. Not surprising, really. He’s really starting to feel more than a little desperate to do something about this curse. Maybe his brain is trying to actually be helpful, for once. 

Hah! Nevermind, his brain would never do that. 

He hears the sharp crack of the lock breaking and then the slide of the window being pulled up. There’s a muffled “Crap!” and then the blinds are being pulled up to reveal the blue and red spandex of Wade’s favorite superhero. 

“Huh.” Wade grunts, a little wonderingly. Maybe his brain  _ is _ trying to be helpful. If Wade had to think of one single person in this world that he’d be willing to let help him, Spider-Man would be it. 

The blinds rustle back into place as Spidey finally steps fully into the room, turning toward the bed. He freezes when he spots Wade.

“Um. Uh… Deadpool?” 

Wade just heaves a resigned sigh and stares at the ceiling. Wow, he’s managed to keep the blood and brain goop spatter mostly confined to the bed. That’ll certainly make post-curse clean up easier, he thinks idly. Sliding his hand up, he grabs the gun from under the pillow. His arm feels like lead as he brings it to his head.

“Whoa, hey!” Spidey jerks back a step, hands rising. 

Letting his head fall to the side again, Wade smiles at the image of Spidey. It really is too bad that the sweet hallucination will probably be gone when he wakes up. 

**_*BANG*_ **

Spidey’s not gone when Wade wakes up.

Wade opens his eyes to unicorns galloping on his ceiling above Spidey’s masked face as the man hovers over him. 

“Deadpool!” 

A gloved hand reaches over and pulls the gun out of Wade’s lax grip. 

Wade is willing to entertain the idea that there is a _ slight _ possibility that Spidey  _ is not,  _ in fact, a hallucination. Hallucinations usually can’t take anything out of his hands, and unless his gun can suddenly float through the air and lay itself on the side table, the superhero hovering over him is actually the real deal. 

Well, fuck.

Wade lets his eyes follow Spider-Man around the room, but can’t find it in himself to summon the fucks to do much else. For one thing, he’s still suffering from a nasty post-shooting-himself-in-the-head hangover; head throbbing, stomach turning over with nausea, and the gross taste of old blood in his mouth. For another, the curse apparently still doesn’t understand the ‘die’ part of ‘fuck or die.’ His pounding heart is still pouring fire through his veins, his skin is shivering and twitching with painful sensitivity, and his cock is hard enough to drill through solid rock. 

As the pounding in his head starts to subside, the assholes in his head pick back up. He jolts as they point out that Spidey not being a hallucination is  _ not _ a good thing. After all, Wade is still naked. It’s a little surprising Spidey hasn’t vomited everywhere already. 

Wade squeezes his eyes shut, rolling onto his side and digging his hands into his temples. 

“Fuck!”

Had he really been  _ happy _ when he realized it was little spider fingers tip-tapping at his window? Thinking that Spidey might  _ help  _ him? What the fuck had he even been thinking? Spidey is the  _ last  _ person to pull into this clusterfuck, if he wants any chance of keeping the man’s respect! 

Wade digs his hands into his temples harder, feeling the skin part under his nails. 

“Deadpool?” 

The tentative brush against the back of his hands, Spidey reaching out to stop him from damaging himself, shocks Wade so much he almost tumbles off the bed from the force of his flinch. It’s been so long since his miserable, naked skin has felt anything but his own searing touch. It still stings, but not as badly as his own touch.

Whatever, if Spidey can keep his stomach down at the sight of Wade’s nakedness, there’s no fucking way Wade is going to try to put anything over his skin right now. 

“What are you doing here?” Wade growls, glare filled with suspicion. 

“I haven’t seen you all week. Usually I spot you on patrol a few times a week. I got worried.” Spidey sits on the side of the bed, half turned towards Wade’s curled form. Concern is crinkling the material of his mask along his forehead. “Are you okay?”

Wade scoffs. “Obviously not! Do you think I just lie around in my birthday suit for funsies?”

“Well, I—”

“How did you know where to find me?” Wade interrupts before Spidey can offer any kind of opinions on Wade’s nakedness. It’s not like anyone has ever had anything kind to say before now. He doesn’t want to hear the disgust that paints everyone’s voice when they see any bit of Wade’s skin. 

“You told me where you lived the last time you invited me to play video games,” Spidey tentatively offers. 

Huh. Wade doesn’t remember that. Well, it’s not really surprising. He’s shot himself in the head quite a few times over the last however long he’s been suffering with this terrible, miserable, truly awful and not fun at all excuse for cock and ball torture. At least a week, if Spidey is to be believed. 

Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. Spidey needs to help, or he needs to leave, and there’s no way in hell he’s letting Spidey help him with this. Wade might be nothing but low-down scum but he’s not a rapist!

“Go away,” Wade demands bluntly.

“What?” Spidey asks in surprise. “No, Deadpool, something isn’t okay with you!” 

“I don’t want any help!” 

“Deadpool—” 

Because this curse just isn’t charming enough already, Wade’s rising emotions apparently trigger a super-secret bonus feature. Pain surges through his veins, and the scream that rips out of his throat cuts off whatever Spidey was going to say. The seizure that shakes through his body has Spidey reaching out for him in shock but by then it’s too late. 

Darkness crests over him and swallows him whole.

* * *

When he comes to, he is definitely suffering from a just-woke-from-death hangover. That’s unexpected. This is the first time the curse has actually killed him. Although, to be fair, so far he’s killed himself before it could get too overwhelming. 

Apparently the die part of this fuck or die curse really is  _ ‘it’s gonna kill you if you don’t fuck.’ _ How lovely.

“What the shit was that?” Wade complains softly.

“Deadpool?!” A masked face pops into his field of vision. 

“Oh, you’re still here,” Wade says, nonplussed. “Didn’t I tell you to go away?” 

The words are inquisitive, now, instead of rude. Wade can’t summon the anger he was feeling earlier. It’s still shocking to see the other man still here, though. Spider-Man knows that death is a temporary thing for Wade, he’s seen him die in too many varied and creative methods to  _ not _ know. So why hadn’t Spidey left? 

“You just had a seizure and died! Of course I’m not going to go away! What’s happening to you?” 

Apparently Spider-Man had somehow missed the message that Wade was indestructible. He always came back. Like cockroaches. 

The comparison has the boxes snickering. It fits so well, after all. Nothing could kill cockroaches, just like Wade. No matter what you did to try to get rid of them, they always came back (just like Wade). They were disgusting. 

Just like Wade. 

“Deadpool!” 

Oops. He must have gotten a little too lost in his own head. 

The seizure (and resulting death) must have reset the curse enough that he doesn’t feel like his blood is boiling in his veins anymore, but his skin is still twitching with oversensitivity as he turns his head, skin dragging over his pillowcase. Wade blinks as he finally sees Spider-Man. 

Spidey is hovering on the edge of the bed and Wade can see concern written in every line of his tense body. He’s got his arms crossed as he clenches his hands deeply into the muscle of his upper arms. 

“What are you still doing here?” Wade asks. “You know death doesn’t stick for me, right?”

The question seems to enrage the other man. “Are you kidding me, Deadpool?! I just watched you have a seizure and die! Your body is so hot I don’t know how you were even able to talk to me before it happened. Are you sick? Are you hurt?” The rapidfire words taper off as Spider-Man shakes his head in exasperation. His voice is small. “I thought we were friends, ‘Pool.” 

The words have Wade closing his eyes. “It really isn’t like that, Spidey.” 

A convulsive shiver shakes through Wade’s body and he notices that, despite all the shit that’s been happening since not-actually-a-hallucination Spidey entered his room, the curse is still running rampant through his body. And of course, he’s been laying flat on his back for most of the time the other super has been here, his cock standing straight and proud. 

Oh yeah. And he had decided to stay naked. Why had he decided that? 

Fucking shit goddamn!

“I’m a little naked here,” Wade finally says flatly. “Could you maybe grab me something to cover up with before I have to give you all the gory details?”

Spider-Man’s heavy breath is loud in the room as he breathes out sharply in irritation before he nods. “Fine. You got clothes or sheets somewhere?”

He waves around the bare room. Wade’s eyes track his hand and continue on to gaze around. The only furniture in Wade’s bedroom is the messy side table and his bed up on a metal bedframe. His bed is bare of everything except the stained fitted sheet and 2 pillows. There’s no dresser in the room and the closet door hangs open, showing the bare hangers and empty space. Scattered in one corner is a handful of weapons. The floor is otherwise clear except for the random congealing splatters of blood. 

“Uuuhh… Well, shit.” 

There have to be clothes somewhere, or and at least a blanket. The boxes helpfully point out that he almost never bothers to climb out of his suit. Why bother having civvies around if he wasn’t ever going to wear them? 

He definitely remembers throwing some in a duffel that he had dragged along with him when he moved into this shithole, though. Where had he stashed it?

Wade rolls his aching body over toward the side of his bed. Unfortunately, he had misjudged how far he needed to roll. Flailing as his body slides off the edge, he grunts as his hip hits the floor hard. 

“Deadpool?” Spider-Man moves around the side of the bed, head tilted almost to his shoulder as he examines Wade’s crumpled form. 

Wade painfully wedges his tired body up onto his hands and knees, ignoring the look and the question. If he can just stand up, he can go try to find some clothes. He’s not gonna hold out all that much hope for how comfortable they’ll be once he puts them on over his over-sensitive skin, but he doesn’t want Spidey looking at him anymore. 

Spider-Man might be able to ignore what Wade looks like enough not to puke, but the idea of his idol having to see the disgusting mess that is Wade’s skin has  _ Wade _ wanting to puke. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Wade mumbles at the voices in his head, gripping the side of the bed and attempting to lever himself up. The voices keep going on and fucking on about how ugly and disgusting Wade is but Christ on a fucking goddamned cracker, he knows all this shit! They don’t have to keep rubbing it in. 

His grip slips as the fitted sheet pulls up on the other side of the bed, dumping his ass on the floor again.

“Fuck!” 

Wade flinches violently as the soft grip of spandex lights his arm on fire. Ripping himself back, he scrambles away. “Don’t touch me!” 

He turns a dark glare back to Spider-Man. The other man has taken a step back and lifted his hands in supplication, watching as Wade continues to scoot away from him. “I was going to help you stand.”

Wade’s back hits the wall. “I don’t want you to touch me.” 

Spidey takes an ostentatious step back, raising his hands farther. “I won’t.” 

Wade stares at him, frustration and suspicion in his glare. This would be so much easier if Spidey had just left when Wade had told him to. 

Spider-Man’s steady staring, heavy even through the other man’s mask, is what finally gets Wade moving again. His skin is starting to crawl with another kind of discomfort now. He feels too on display, and Spidey’s lack of outward reaction to the horrifying disaster that is Wade’s skin has Wade cringing as the voices in his head start wondering what the hero must really be thinking as he keeps his eyes locked on Wade. 

Does he see something to pity? Is he barely containing his horror? 

In the end, it doesn’t really matter. Pity or horror, Wade wants nothing to do with it. 

It’s the push he needs to finally stand up. Pressing his back against the wall, he uses the support to painfully inch up to standing. Ignoring Spider-Man, he starts making his slow and staggering way toward the doorway, bumping against the wall as he goes. Maybe the duffel bag is in the bathroom. That makes sense, anyway. Wade distinctly remembers using a towel after he came out of the shower last time, and it had to come from somewhere. 

He almost falls turning through the doorway, but he manages to catch himself on the opposite wall with a painful jolt. Luckily, the apartment isn’t very big, and it’s just a few more agonizing steps to the bathroom. Pushing the door open, he falls through the doorway and face plants into the duffel bag. At least one thing is going right.

“Found it,” he mumbles into the fabric, quickly pulling his face away. It burns as much as the touch of Spidey’s spandex-clad hand against his arm had. Pulling on clothing is almost certainly going to be torture. 

Nothing for it, though. His choices are continue to sit around and let Spidey see the whole disgusting enchilada, plus added hard dick, or pull on  _ something _ to cover up a little. No way was his cracked brain going to let him continue to hang around in his birthday suit with Spidey ogling him. Things are bad enough—no need to add in screaming voices and violent hallucinations. 

His hand is shaking as he reaches out to unzip the bag. Clenching his fist tightly, he takes a deep breath and holds it. He can do this. Wade has been through much worse than this before. What are a few clothes or a towel in comparison to torture while he was with Weapon X? 

Nothing, that’s what. 

Letting out his breath in a shaky sigh, he opens his fist and reaches for the bag again. His hand is steady this time. Surprisingly, the zipper feels like nothing but cool metal against his fingers. The coarse fabric of the bag doesn’t hurt, either. 

He reaches in to pull out a loose, grey, long sleeved shirt. It’s one of the few civilian shirts he can bring himself to wear most of the time. It’s soft and well worn, the decal on the front so faded it’s unrecognizable. Lying underneath that is a pair of loose black sweatpants. 

The suit is such a security blanket for him that he only ever wears these clothes when his skin is so sore he can’t bear it. Even then, it’s usually never for more than a few hours. When he hits the point where the pain from the suit is worse than the pain of looking at himself. Well… this fucking counts. 

Shaking the shirt out, he breathes out another sigh. This is going to suck huge donkey dick. 

Time to just fucking get it over with. Sitting here and staring isn’t going to make it hurt any less when he finally gets around to pulling the thing over his head. 

Yanking it on with jerky movements, the material starts off feeling soft. Maybe he’ll get lucky? Leaning back, he tries to get the pants on without having to navigate getting back up again. It goes about as well as expected. Meaning he falls over and smacks his head into the bathroom wall but what the fuck ever, they’re on now!

As he makes his wobbly way to his feet, he falls through the doorway and lands against the opposite wall yet a- _fucking-_ gain, goddamn fucking _walls_ always getting in his fucking way. Bracing himself against it, he staggers back toward his room.

The clothing is starting to tingle against his skin, but only just barely. Maybe he can make it through this conversation without his skin melting off, after all. 

Maybe not. 

It’s starting to feel a little like sandpaper scraping over him by the time he makes it all the way to his room and lets himself fall back on his bed. It’s nice and cleaned up. Spidey has helpfully pulled off the sheet and must have flipped the mattress. Wade spots the pillows in the corner, but whatever, they had been getting crusty anyway. 

Spider-Man is still standing awkwardly at the end of the bed, head following Wade as he moves through the room. “Uh…” 

“What?” Wade grumbles, turning a scowl toward Spidey.

Spider-Man gestures helplessly. “You, uh… You said you would tell me what’s going on once you had clothes?” 

“Is that a question? Because I would rather you just left.”

“Deadpool, come on. I can’t just leave! You had a seizure and died right in front of me!” 

Wade flops over onto his back and sighs. The sandpaper feeling has progressed to a twitchy burning, and he wants the clothes  _ off, _ which means chasing Spidey  _ out. _ Which means giving him the answers he wants. “Fuck, fine.” 

Silence reigns through the room. The only thing Wade can hear is his own breathing (and of course, the ever present voices in his head). A heavy sigh comes from Spider-Man. 

“Are you going to explain what’s going on?” 

Wade pouts. “You could just go away.”

“I’m not going to,” Spider-Man states firmly. Damn. 

The silence stretches on for several long moments. 

“I was cursed,” Wade finally offers. 

Spider-Man is silent. His hand comes up as though he wants to reach out, and then he drops it, letting his head fall back. He sighs again. 

“Usually I can’t get a word in edgewise around you. Is that really all you’re going to give me?”

Wade scowls bitterly, fighting to hold his body still. Why the fuck can’t Spider-Man just leave already! Wade’s skin is starting to feel like it will just crawl right off his muscles if he doesn’t get these goddamn clothes off soon, and he  _ isn’t  _ going to be doing that while Spidey is here, staring at him. 

“You know, I’ve had a shitty week!” Wade bursts out. “You barely tolerate me most of the time, why the fuck would you come looking for me? I was dealing with this shit just fucking fine!” 

The shock is easy to see in the lines of Spider-Man’s body, but the scoff makes it easy to tell what the other man thinks about Wade’s definition of  _ dealing with.  _ “You’ve died twice in the time I’ve been here!” 

“And I was dealing with it.” 

“Considering how twitchy you’re getting, I’m assuming the curse is still in effect?”

Wade stops moving, pulling his hands away from where they had been tugging and rubbing at his pants, crossing his arms. “I just haven’t died enough times. It can’t last forever.” 

“Come on, Deadpool,” Spider-Man wheedles, “just tell me what the curse is doing to you. Maybe I can help?”

Wade keeps his gaze glued to the bed and tightens his arms around himself, gripping tightly to the sides of the shirt. It’s starting to feel impossible to hold still. The rough burning of his clothing has progressed to the feeling of needles digging into him. “I can handle it.” 

Spider-Man’s head tilts, watching as Wade starts picking at his clothes, pulling it away from his skin just to drop it again. Wade doesn’t want to take them off, he doesn’t want Spider-Man to be staring at his naked body, but it’s starting to become unbearable. 

He breaks and yanks off his shirt with a strangled yelp. “Can you just go away!? I told you I don’t want your help!” 

A gasp breaks through the air and Spider-Man jerks forward. “Holy crap, Wade!” 

Where the shirt had been rubbing against his skin, raw sores have broken out. He can only assume his bottom half looks the same, but the idea of taking off his pants and being fully bared to Spidey again is still beating out the pain of Wade’s screaming skin. 

His cock has decided to throb every time Spider-Man speaks, and fire is starting to pump through his veins in place of blood. Wade whimpers, waving the other man away as Spidey reaches out. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

“Please, Deadpool,” Spider-Man pleads, stopping just short of touching Wade’s shoulder. 

Wade heaves in a breath, curling onto his side and wrapping his arms tightly around himself. Either his dick is going to fall off or he’s going to catch on fire. Both outcomes sound equally terrible, and the voices screaming at him in his head aren’t helping. 

He’s having trouble remembering why he decided he didn’t need help. Spidey is  _ right there! _ All he has to do is tell the truth and Spider-Man will almost certainly offer to help. What’s a little sex to save a life, right?

No!

Wade isn’t a rapist, he can fucking handle this! What’s a few more deaths? His body can take it. This curse  _ can’t  _ last forever. He doesn’t need a pity fuck, he doesn’t need Spidey touching him out of obligation, what he needs is to be left alone. 

“Just  _ go away!”  _ He sobs. Tension is building in his body and it’s all he can do to keep from thrashing. The cloth brushing his legs is an agony pressing on his entire lower half. 

“Just take them off!” Spider-Man says, reaching out for Wade again and pulling at his pants. “I know it hurts, look what your shirt did to your chest!” 

Wade can’t move enough to stop him this time, agony pounding through his veins with every heavy beat of his heart. It’s too much. His whole body is trembling wildly now and he can’t control his limbs enough to either help  _ or  _ hinder, no matter what he might have wanted. The slide of fabric dragging down his legs is a sweet torture—the relief of cool air against his skin is welcome, but the knowledge that Spidey can see his tortured skin stabs at him. 

He doesn’t have to worry about it for long, though. The trembling increases to outright shaking as the pain crests, dragging him under. Starbursts light up his vision as he squeezes his eyes tightly shut. 

And then it all stops. Darkness eats his vision and his body relaxes fully as death releases him from the pain, at least for a short while. 

* * *

When he comes to, his skin isn’t screaming in pain anymore. It’s still crawling with skin hunger, but that’s a little easier to ignore. 

What  _ isn’t  _ easy to ignore is Spider-Man’s frantic soliloquy. Wade can feel the man’s hands hovering over his skin, thankfully not touching, but close enough to feel the ambient heat. 

“Oh my gosh, Deadpool, I’m so sorry, I won’t touch you again. Holy crap! Are you waking up yet? You’ve been dead a long time and it’s really starting to worry me, you’re usually only out for a few minutes at a time. Come on, man, I don’t know what to do here! Every time I touch you new sores open up, I can’t even check and see if your heart is beating yet—”

“I’m alive,” Wade groans.

That’s the catalyst Spider-Man needs to reach out and touch him. Wade instantly shoves him away as the man’s gloved fingers barely graze him, and pain sears through his arm. “Don’t touch me!”

Spider-Man jumps back, hands raised in surrender. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking! I was just so relieved you finally woke up!” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Wade waves him off, taking visual stock of his body. 

Damn it! It hadn’t been his imagination. Spider-Man had definitely pulled his pants off just as Wade was dying. He turns a scowl toward the so-called hero. “Not gonna ask a lady first before you start pulling off clothes?” 

“They were hurting you!” Spider-Man exclaims.

“Fucking consent, please!” Wade looks around the room. There aren’t any pants to be seen. “What did you do with them? Give them back.” 

“I put them back in the bathroom. You can’t put them back on, Deadpool. Whatever this curse is, wearing clothing obviously makes it way worse.”

“I don’t care! I’m not going to sit around here just for you to stare at poor ugly Deadpool.” Wade starts trying to drag himself out of bed again. His body aches even more this time but whatever, he’s fucking Deadpool. He’s always okay. 

Spider-Man moves toward him, reaching out again, obviously meaning to stop him. 

Wade shies away. “Seriously, what the fuck! How many times do you have to see my skin melt as you touch me to get the fucking picture?”

“Please. Just tell me what the curse is. I could try to find a way to get it lifted, at least.” 

Wade stops trying to get up, looking over at Spider-Man standing just out of arm’s reach. He looks so freaking pitiful there; arms down at his sides, shoulders sagging. Even his mask is starting to look sad. 

“Aw, fuck. Do you gotta look so pathetic? That’s cheating!” Wade snaps. 

Spider-Man sighs, wrapping his arms around himself now. “I’m sorry. I just want to help. I thought we were friends?” 

Friends? Since when were they friends? Wade had honestly thought the other super barely tolerated him. This was the second time Spider-Man has hinted that his thoughts on their relationship hasn’t been quite what Wade assumed. 

Sighing, Wade lets himself fall back over on the bed. Dragging his feet back up, he curls himself in. At the very least, he can keep his raging hard on to himself. Spidey definitely doesn’t want to see that, no matter how much he thinks they’re friends. Friends don’t flaunt their penises at each other, right?

Closing his eyes, he sighs again. At this point, what the fuck was the harm? Spider-Man obviously wasn’t going to leave unless Wade told him. “It’s a curse.” 

“You already—” Spider-Man starts to interrupt. 

Wade talks over him. “I was at the New York branch of the sorcerer hideout, I wanted to talk to Dr Strange. There was this chick. And okay, I might have been a little rude but really, it didn’t fucking deserve this!” 

He’s mostly talking to himself now, angrily remembering. “All I did was whistle at her! Asked her very nicely if she would turn around so I could look at her ass again.” He looks up at Spider-Man, smirk twitching the corners of his mouth up. “I even told her that her ass was almost as good as yours.” 

Wade hears Spider-Man snort softly as he continues the story. “So she freaks out at me! Said something about ‘burning pleasure and death without another.’” Wade’s voice goes high and mocking as he repeats what he remembers of the woman’s words. “I don’t know. All I know is that I’m hornier than I’ve ever been and any touch against my skin feels like torture.”

“A sex curse?” Spider-Man sounds shocked as he asks. 

Wade laughs bitterly. “Looks like. And I can’t even fucking masturbate, can you believe that? Even my own hand against my cock burns just like the clothes did. Don’t even get me started on what the fleshlight felt like.” 

“But—” confusion rings in the other man’s voice, “I’ve seen you touch your own skin without sores rising up since I’ve been here. And you can lay on the bed without problems.” 

“What?” Wade blinks at him.

“You didn’t notice?” 

“Uh… no. I mean, I was a little busy being in agony and dying a bunch.” 

Spider-Man silently gestures at him and Wade looks down. Yeah, he’s definitely laying in the bed and he  _ has been _ almost the whole time he’s been dealing with this. 

“Maybe…” Spider-Man muses, starting to pull off his gloves. 

“What?” 

Tossing his gloves on the ground, Spider-Man reaches out. “May I?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Wade snaps, dragging himself up to sitting and scootching back toward the wall as fast as he can drag himself. “No, that’s a terrible idea!” 

“I just want to see if my bare hand hurts you the same way that my gloved hand did.” 

Wade glares at Spider-Man’s hand, still hanging naked in the air between them. This is exactly what he had been afraid of. He turns his glare at the man attached to the hand. “I told you I could handle this alone.” 

Spider-Man lets the hand drop down to his side. “You’re hurting.” 

Wade crosses his arms defensively. “I’m always hurting. This might be a little more severe than usual, but I’ll be fine eventually. I’m always fine in the end.” 

He can’t help the way his eyes slide away from Spider-Man. Wade doesn’t want to see the sympathy. It doesn’t matter anyway. No matter how bitter he might have sounded, no matter how much he hates it, Wade is  _ always fine _ . 

Spider-Man sighs. “Would it be so bad to let me help you?” 

“I’m not a rapist!” The words tumble out before Wade can think to censor himself. 

“You—” Spider-Man starts, gaping shock visible even through his mask. “Of course you’re not!” 

“I didn’t call anyone because I don’t want or need a pity fuck and I certainly won’t coerce anyone into fucking me just to spare myself a little pain! Just—” Wade breaks off his tirade with a choked scream of frustration. He grips at his head, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Wade feels the bed dip. There is a gentle brush of air against his arm just before fingers settle on his hand. Pleasure rips through his body, originating just under those fingers and swiftly enveloping his whole body. He chokes on a groan, cock jerking hard. For a moment he’s afraid the tiny, gentle touch will be enough to send him into orgasm. 

It’s not, but just barely. 

In the next moment, Wade smacks Spider-Man’s hand away, scrambling to the side. He miscalculates the edge of the bed and falls with a painful thud on his shoulder. He ignores the pain. It doesn’t matter. It certainly doesn’t do anything to take the edge off his erection. He curls in on himself, there on the floor. 

“Jesus Christ on a pogo stick,” he whimpers. 

“I’m sorry!” Wade hears from above him. Spidey must have moved on the bed to lean over the side and look at him. Whatever, it’s fine. Wade’s just never going to open his eyes again. Maybe if he ignores the man for long enough, he’ll go away.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” 

Because there is no god, just the sound of his concerned voice is too much for Wade’s inflamed body. He clasps his hands to his mouth, trying to muffle his gasping cry as his first orgasm in who knows how long rips through his body. He seizes up, hips involuntarily thrusting at nothing as he fights to hide what’s happening. 

It’s beyond euphoric, pleasure sparking along every nerve ending. His fingers and toes are tingling from the force of it as he starts to come down, shuddering in the near-ecstasy of relief singing from his balls. Wade can’t remember having so powerful an orgasm, and certainly not from the mere brush of fingers against the back of his hand, and the sound of a concerned voice!

“Deadpool?” 

Wade’s whole body shivers at Spider-Man’s voice, cock jumping. It hasn’t flagged at all, despite the intense orgasm. 

“Fuck!” Wade snarls. 

“Are you—” 

“Do  _ not _ touch me again!” Wade looks up, still curled around himself on the floor. There’s no way to hide the aftermath of his orgasm. Wade’s naked and there’s nothing in the room to wipe up with, even if he could move enough to reach it. 

Spider-Man  _ is _ leaning over the edge of the bed. He quickly pulls his hand back from where he had been reaching out, as though to touch Wade again. “I’m sorry.”

Wade sighs. He doesn’t want to get back up. He  _ really  _ doesn’t want Spidey to see what his tiny little nothing touch actually did. 

“Can you  _ please _ just go away? I told you I didn’t want you to touch me,” Wade can’t help the almost-sob that edges his voice. 

“You…” Spider-Man hesitates. “I didn’t think—” Shaking his head, he sighs. “I’ll be right back.” 

Wade keeps suspicious eyes trained on the man as he pulls back, getting up and walking out of the room. Wade can hear water run in the bathroom a moment later. 

When Spidey walks back into the room, he’s carrying a cloth. He crouches down next to Wade, careful to leave space between them, and holds the cloth out. “Here. I’ll give you a moment.” 

Wade hesitates before carefully pulling it from Spider-Man’s hand. “Thanks,” he mutters. 

Spider-Man nods as he stands, before turning and walking out of the room again, door clicking shut behind him. 

Wade doesn’t wait to clean himself up, scrubbing at his front and making sure to clean off his cock and the floor. Surprisingly, the cloth doesn’t hurt against his skin. Maybe the orgasm did actually take a little bit of edge off the curse. 

As soon as he’s done, he stuffs the cloth beneath the bed and scrambles up off the floor. Sitting himself against the wall at the top of his bed, he wraps his arms around his knees. This is probably the closest Wade is going to get to modesty before the curse runs its course. No matter how much he hates the idea of his naked skin still being all out there for anyone to see, just the idea of putting clothes back on sends a shudder wracking through him. 

If he has to endure the feeling of his skin melting again any time in the next century, it will be too soon. 

A knock sounds on the bedroom door. 

“You can come back in!” Wade sullenly calls out. 

The door immediately pops open. Spider-Man doesn’t hesitate to sit on the bed this time. 

“So I can assume my bare skin didn’t hurt?”

Wade scowls at him. 

“Deadpool…” Spider-Man hesitates. “I just—”

“Please don’t,” Wade interrupts. 

“No!” Spider-Man bursts out, hurt lacing his voice. “Why wouldn’t you ask me? Wade… I’m your friend. I want to help you.”

The use of his first name comes as a shock to Wade. He had given Spider-Man his name not long after they had first met but the other man had never used it. In all honesty, Wade had thought Spider-Man had long forgotten it. 

“I don’t need your pity,” Wade turns his head away. 

“It’s not pity!” 

“It’s always pity! No one ever wants to touch me for any other reason!” Wade bursts out, turning a vicious glare on Spider-Man. His lip curls in a sneer, “Well, unless they want to kill me and are just buttering me up enough to get close.” 

“It’s not like that.” 

“Really? And that’s why you say we’re friends and yet we’ve known each other for years. I’ve never seen your face, don’t know your name, nothing.” 

Spider-Man pulls back, crossing his arms. “I just—! I’ve never told  _ anyone!”  _

“So what? You’ll just have sex with me and we’ll go back to being patrol buddies, just like that? I don’t fucking think so,” Wade turns his head away again. “Please just leave, Spider-Man. Like I said earlier, I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. I’ll see you when I see you.” 

Silence echoes in the room. 

Wade hears a rustling as Spider-Man shifts next to him. “Peter.”

“What?” Wade jerks his head around, gaping at Spider-Man’s bare face. He has wavy brown hair, mussed from his mask. His blue eyes are serious, but the skin around them creases when he smiles at Wade. “My name is Peter.” 

“You—” Wade stops. He can’t think of anything to say. Never in a million years would he have expected this. 

“You  _ are  _ my friend,” Spider-Man— _ Peter— _ goes on. “I’m sorry I was never brave enough to show you before.” 

Wade can’t help but gape. “You—Peter…” 

Peter’s smile turns rueful. “Yeah, that’s me. I know. A little boring, right?” 

“No! You’re perfect. But—” Wade shakes his head, eyes darting between Peter’s— _ Spider-Man’s— _ face and the bed. He can’t keep the thought behind his teeth, bitterness welling up. “Why would you show me? You’ve never trusted me enough before now. I already told you,  _ Peter, _ I don’t want or need your pity.”

Peter is already shaking his head before Wade even stops talking. “It’s not like that.” He reaches out as Wade opens his mouth to refute him, stopping just before touching skin. “No, Wade. It’s not! I  _ do _ trust you. I just—I just really haven’t actually just  _ told _ anyone. And the few people that have found out, died because of it.” 

“Peter…” Wade looks down at his knees, arms tightening around his legs. “You know, any other time this would make my goddamned year. But right now? With this curse? It just feels like manipulation.” He laughs bitterly. “Or pity or some misguided attempt to spare me pain.” 

“Misguided? Is it wrong for me to not want my friend to be in pain?” 

Wade is just opening his mouth to spit vitriol when Peter reaches out again, this time letting his hand connect with Wade’s arm. It’s like lightning shooting through his body. He chokes on his words before he manages to say anything. Peter doesn’t stop at a light touch this time. He presses his whole palm against Wade’s arm and slowly drags it up, leaving pleasure sparking in its passage.

Wade feels his eyes roll up in his head and he can’t help the high pitched whimper that escapes his mouth. “Y-you… P-Peter, please.”

“I want to help you, Wade,” Peter moves up to his knees on the bed, hand still pressed to Wade’s shoulder. Leaning closer, he breathes his next words against Wade’s mouth. “Please let me.” 

Another whimper escapes Wade’s mouth as he desperately shakes his head. “You don’t really want me.” 

“I do.” Peter trails his hand down from Wade’s shoulder to his wrist, gripping and pulling him forward enough to press Wade’s hand against the bulge at his crotch. The fabric sparks pain in his hand, but through the discomfort he can feel the hard length pressing insistently against him. 

Wade blinks. Peter’s eyes are so bright, Wade is so tired of being in pain. Is it really so wrong to accept what Peter is trying to give him? Leaning forward, Wade closes the distance between them and presses their mouths together. The lightning trailing out from Peter’s hand on his wrist sparks into an inferno and Wade pulls away enough to wrap both arms tight around Peter, dragging the man into his lap. 

“Shit!” Wade tears his mouth away and pushes Peter back as pain flares everywhere Peter’s suit is touching his skin. A hurt look is forming on Peter’s face and Wade quickly waves his hands, gesturing down at his own body, “No, no, I’ve decided yes! But your suit still definitely hurts. Can you take it off?” 

The hurt expression fades and a smile of relief takes its place as Peter nods. “If you wanted me out of my suit that bad, you just had to ask, ‘Pool,” he quips, leaning forward for a quick peck against Wade’s lips before slipping off the bed. Wade jerks forward and gasps. Just the kiss and he’s already back on the edge of orgasm. 

Peter pulls away just long enough to quickly pull his suit off, but it still feels like too long to Wade. He doesn’t have to wait long, though. Peter smiles at the grabby hands Wade throws towards him as he finishes peeling off the spandex. 

Wade slides down so he’s flatter on the bed, spreading his legs to let Peter slip between them. Peter presses his body flush against Wade, letting their skin drag together as he crawls up and angles his head down to press his mouth against Wade’s. The slide is euphoric, driving Wade over the edge again. 

He cries out into Peter’s mouth as he comes, lifting one leg and pressing his knee into the other man’s side. He can’t help thrusting up, feeling Peter’s hard cock slide against his own. Peter’s mouth opens against Wade’s as his hand comes down to grip Wade’s thigh, pulling it up higher as he grinds down to meet the thrust. 

“Fuck, Webs,” Wade gasps out. “Sorry, sorry, I can’t—”

“Shh, shh,” Peter murmurs against Wade’s mouth. He pulls away and trails kisses over Wade’s jaw. “It’s alright, take what you need.”

“Don’t stop!” Wade pulls his other leg up, throwing his head back to make more room for the sucking kisses Peter is trailing down his neck. “Please, I need more. I want you to fuck me.” 

Peter’s mouth stills for a moment before he pulls away, looking down at Wade. “Are you sure you want to go that far?”

Wade whimpers, hips moving in tiny thrusts. He can’t keep himself still. Every point of contact between them is igniting flames in his body and for all that they haven’t even done much, he doesn’t know how much longer he can stand this. It feels like the sweetest of tortures. “Please… I need it,  _ please.”  _

“Yeah,” Peter leans down and takes Wade’s mouth in another kiss, sucking at Wade’s lip. He slowly pulls back, diving back in for a quick kiss before he leans toward the side table and grabs the bottle of lube. “Okay, we can do that.” 

Peter drags a hand down Wade’s thigh as he slides back down between his legs. Wade feels his cock jerk. Despite two orgasms in barely any time at all, he’s still so ready. Every touch feels like a livewire tied to his cock. Wade clenches his eyes tightly shut. Watching and feeling everything is just too much. 

He can’t stop the sounds that slip past his clenched teeth, either, whining and twitching as Peter leans down and kisses his stomach. Peter’s hand slips around Wade’s thigh to brush lightly across the bottom of his ass. A full body shudder wracks through Wade. The pressure is already rising again, and he can feel his balls tightening. 

Wade hears the click of a cap and then a sob bursts from him as wet fingers slide between his cheeks and rub against his opening. His voice is hoarse and breathless but he can’t stop the words that slip out, “Oh fuck, I can’t—please, please, I—”

Wade feels Peter lean back in and then warm breath feathers over his cock with the words, “Let go.” 

Choking back a harsh groan, Wade does, pleasure cascading through him as Peter envelopes the head of Wade’s cock in his mouth. His hands come up to press down on Wade’s hips. Wade can’t help the twitching thrusts of his hips with every suck of Peter’s mouth, the warm wet feels like perfect ecstasy. 

Sound comes filtering back through as the pleasure starts to ebb down and Wade is mortified to hear his own voice chanting. “Please, please,  _ oh please, _ fuck me, I need it, please—” He cuts himself off sharply as he slowly lets his body relax back against the bed. His breath is coming harshly, but he can’t seem to get it under control. Fine tremors run through him. “Shit. Shit!” 

“Shhh,” Peter whispers against his thigh. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.” 

It’s not. Wade loves that Peter says it but it’s really not okay. He hates how vulnerable he feels right now and he hates how his weakness is forcing Peter into helping him. Most of all, he hates how it isn’t enough. The fire is rising through him again and his cock is still just as hard as it has been for the days or weeks or eternity that it’s already been since he was cursed. 

Peter’s hand has moved to gently running up and down Wade’s thigh and it’s both too much and not enough. Every rasp of skin on skin sends shivers through Wade’s whole body and he whimpers. “Please, Peter.”

Peter pulls back, hand stilling, and shoots concerned eyes at Wade. “Wade?” 

“No, don’t stop!” Wade reaches for him. “I still want it; please, please fuck me.”

Peter smiles and leans back down, kissing the join of Wade’s leg. “I won’t. I promise I’ll give you what you need.” 

The cap of the lube clicks again and Peter’s fingers are back between Wade’s legs. His hips jerk reflexively. “Yes,” Wade sobs. His skin is starting to throb painfully again, pressure building, making him feel like he’s going to burst out of his skin at any moment. The wet slide against his opening brings pleasure, but also focuses everything down into one spot. He moans in relief as the burning in his skin lets up, replaced by the blissful ache throbbing around Peter’s fingers. 

“Yes, yes, more please, more,” he hisses. It’s a struggle to hold still. His whole body wants to thrust down against Peter’s fingers. He can’t help but press down a little, even as he desperately tries to hold himself still. One of Peter’s fingers just breaches him before Peter is pulling back and Wade bites back a sound of negation.

“Shh,” Peter whispers against his thigh, pressing his fingers in against Wade again, that finger pushing a little further. “I promise I’m not going to stop, I’ll give you what you need.”

He doesn’t hate this and he hates that most of all. This is everything he’s ever fantasized about, if he could just ignore the feeling that he’s forcing Spider-Man into this. Fuck, why did it have to happen like this?

The feeling of a finger thrusting all the way in has him jolting out of his thoughts with a shout. “Fuck!” 

The slick drag presses back and forth inside him before Peter’s finger hooks at his entrance and tugs. Peter pulls all the way out just long enough to add a second finger, sliding both in to the hilt with no hesitation. Wade figured it would burn, it always does at least a little, but his body is so primed to go that it just feels fantastic, his body yielding with no complaints. 

Peter thrusts his two fingers a few times before leaning a little to the side and placing a sucking kiss on Wade’s thigh. At the same time he turns his hand and scoops his fingers up as he pulls back. His fingers drag over Wade’s prostate and Wade’s whole body explodes, balls clenching up and cock slapping against his stomach as he erupts in orgasm. He’s come so many times in the last few minutes that even his insane metabolism can’t keep up; only a few dribbles of come splatter his stomach. 

“Shit,” he gasps, relaxing back from the clenched up position and letting his knees fall to the side. His balls ache and his cock feels a little raw, even though it’s barely been touched at this point. 

Peter isn’t moving, just looking up at him from between Wade’s legs. He smiles and asks softly, “You want me to stop?”

Wade grimaces and shakes his head. There’s a low thrum running through his body, and a threatening tingle plays across his skin—indicator enough that he can’t stop yet. His cock is still rock hard and throbbing, despite the orgasms. 

“That’s not a happy face,” Peter says. 

“I don’t. I—” Wade doesn’t want to force this to keep going, he’s  _ not _ a rapist, present actions notwithstanding, but—no. “We don’t have to keep going,” he rasps. His voice is hoarse enough he wonders for a moment if he had been screaming. 

“Wade…” Peter pulls his fingers out of Wade and sits up. The resulting emptiness has Wade’s stomach clenching down and pain begins to throb through his body again. It’s duller than it had been, but he knows it will be a torture soon enough.

“Wade,” Peter says again, leaning over and looking seriously in Wade’s eyes. 

It’s a struggle not to turn away, but Peter obviously wants to meet his eyes, and after all this Wade doesn’t want to deny him anything. It’s the least he deserves after Wade practically forced the man to service him. 

“I want to keep going as long as you’re okay with it.” 

The words shouldn’t be the shock they are. Spider-Man is always the most self sacrificing of idiots and his actions so far should have told Wade something but… Wade still expects to be abandoned. That’s all anyone’s ever done. His parents, Vanessa, every friend he’s ever managed to make before right this moment; they all leave him eventually, they all  _ did leave. _

“Will you—” Wade can’t help his hesitation. He feels a burgeoning sense of rejection already, but with Peter’s words, Wade has to ask. There’s still fire burning through him and Wade knows this spell is far from done with him. He’s already using Peter too much and Wade never gets to have nice things, but— “Will you still fuck me?” 

Peter’s face softens even further, if that’s even possible. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to Wade’s mouth and it’s such a surprise that Wade just leans up into it helplessly. “I would really love to,” Peter says softly and the force of his relief at the words almost has Wade sobbing again. Everything is starting to feel a little surreal and dream-like. Maybe he’ll get lucky and once this curse finishes its run through his body, he’ll wake up and this will have all just been one long, drawn out, death-induced hallucination. 

Wade tilts his head back, focusing on the ceiling. Peter takes advantage of the motion and drops his mouth to Wade’s throat. Wade cries out at the unexpected sensation, body tensing and pressing up into Peter’s and he tilts his head back even farther, making space. Maybe it’s not a hallucination? The sucking on his neck has pleasure pulsing through him again.

“Please,” Wade chokes out. It feels so good, but it’s almost too much at the same time. It almost feels like Peter…  _ Spider-Man, _ really cares about him, and Wade knows better. Wade  _ never _ gets to have nice things. “Please fuck me.” 

The words are enough and Peter moves back with one last lick to Wade’s neck. “Yeah.”

His hand trails down Wade’s thighs and rubs over his opening without ceremony and Wade chokes on a shout. “Fuck, Spidey!” 

Peter’s responding laugh is husky. “Good?” he asks. 

Wade nods helplessly as Peter grabs the lube off the bed and slicks up his cock. Wade pulls his own legs up with barely a nudge from Peter and his eyes are glued between his legs where he can see Peter lining himself up. The fire in Wade’s body has become a raging inferno again and it’s all he can do to keep from thrashing. He can distantly feel his own fingers digging into his thighs painfully hard.

“Please, please, please, please…” He’s whimpering the word endlessly as Peter slowly presses in, but he can’t force himself to stop. It’s so much! 

“Please more, or please stop?” Peter asks, breathless as he bottoms out in Wade. 

“More, more, more, please more, please!” Wade wraps his legs up over Peter’s back, pressing his heels in every time Peter pulls back just to thrust back in. 

Peter presses close, hips not stopping their movement as he sucks a kiss into Wade’s collarbone. Wade cries out at the slightly stinging burst of pleasure and wraps his arms up over Peter’s shoulders, not letting him pull back. He turns his head and manages to catch Peter’s mouth in a sloppy kiss. 

The slick drag of Peter inside him feels perfect, feels like everything his body has been screaming for since the witch cast that evil fucking spell on him. The firm press of Peter’s abdomen against his cock is just icing on the cake. 

Wade can’t force his mouth into the right configuration to hold a kiss, so he’s just panting against the side of Peter’s face now, pleasure rising higher and higher in him. The fire has spread through his whole body and there’s no stopping the cry that rips out of his throat as he comes. Peter’s body stutters and he groans in Wade’s ear as Wade grips on tightly with his arms and legs. He knows his ass must feel like it’s strangling Peter’s cock in the best way. His cock smears through the hot come that streaks up his stomach as Peter fucks him through it. 

Wade’s glad. His cock doesn’t soften at all. Fuck, maybe Peter will let him get a feel of the stranglehold an ass can give his cock. He hasn’t felt that in so long! He’s nearly delirious with the pleasure surging through him. He can feel tears streaking down the side of his face and dripping into his ears. 

“No, no, nono!” He chants as he feels Peter’s cock start to soften and slip out of him. “Please don’t stop,” Wade pleads, clutching at him tighter. 

Peter twitches against him and gasps into his shoulder, giving one more stuttering thrust before pulling out completely. “Sorry, sorry, I can’t. It’s too much, Wade, I need a minute.” 

The gaping feeling of emptiness has Wade whimpering again, thrusting desperately against the warm mess slicking Peter’s stomach. Peter presses soft kisses against his collarbone and neck. “Don’t stop,” Peter encourages against Wade’s ear, setting his teeth against the lobe. 

The warm rush of air sends tingles all down his skin and Wade cries out again, thrusting more frantically. It doesn’t feel like enough now that he’s had a cock inside him. “Please, I need— Please, I— Ah! Can you, can you—” he gasps. He doesn’t stop thrusting up, slicking his cock through the mess between them, but it isn’t enough; it’s not going to be enough to let him get off again. 

Peter bites his neck sharply and drags his hands down Wade’s sides. He runs a hand down and around Wade’s ass, stopping to squeeze gently, before moving further down between his legs to mercilessly thrust two fingers in. Wade can’t help the cry that rips out of his throat, “Yes! That’s it, that’s it, fuck!”

Peter’s fingers jab directly against Wade’s prostate while Wade frantically ruts up against him, sobbing. Wade’s orgasm is almost painful as it’s wrung out of him. 

“Sh, shhh, shsh,” Peter hushes him, gently pulling his fingers free and kissing up Wade’s neck. Wade turns his head and blindly kisses at his face. Peter lets him, moving to meet Wade’s mouth in a kiss that quickly turns wide-mouthed and filthy. 

“It’s not enough, _ it’s not enough, _ I don’t, I don’t, I—” Wade mumbles into Peter’s mouth, too frantic to bring himself to pull away long enough to talk clearly. The fire is still burning harshly through his body and his skin is starting to tingle warningly everywhere that’s not touching Peter’s skin. 

Peter just kisses him back, running his hands soothingly up and down Wade’s sides. “It’s okay, shh, just tell me what you need.” 

“I don’t know!” Wade whines, throwing his head back against the bed. He rubs his still hard cock up against Peter’s stomach and sobs at the burn that sparks over his skin at the friction. Just Peter’s skin against him isn’t enough anymore and the glimmer of an idea shimmers just at the corner of his mind, but—no. That’s too much to ask. Wade shakes his head and keeps shaking his head, sobbing. He lets his legs fall to the bed in resignation and squeezes his eyes shut. It doesn’t stop the tears from continuing to drip down his face but it’s not like he has any dignity left, anyway. 

“Hey, hey!” Peter presses his hand against Wade’s face, gently forcing him back, but Wade just shakes his head again and keeps his eyes squeezed closed. He  _ can’t _ ask for that. “No, open your eyes, Wade, please.” 

“I can’t,” Wade whispers. Peter just settles his body more firmly against Wade’s.

“What are you thinking?” Peter asks softly. Wade can feel his eyes even though Wade’s are still tightly closed. He doesn’t want to ask. If he asks, he knows Peter will say yes, and that’s  _ too much. _ Wade won’t ever be able to forgive himself if he talks Peter into letting Wade fuck him under these circumstances. This isn’t real, it could never be real! 

“Wade, come on,” Peter says firmly as Wade’s silence stretches on. “It’s okay, I’m here for you; I promise there’s nothing you can ask for that I’ll be upset about. I want to help you with this.”

“No, no, it’s too much.” Wade opens his eyes, helpless to Peter’ commands but desperate to get him to understand why Wade won’t ask. “I  _ can’t _ ask this. I’m not a rapist, I can’t— I can’t— I’m not going to force you to let me do this!” 

Peter blinks and comprehension dawns over his face. “You want to fuck me?” 

“No!” Wade cries in instant negation, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes closed again. 

He can’t—if Peter says Wade can fuck him, if Peter says he wants it, Wade’s not going to be able to say no. His whole body is starting to scream in agony again and his cock is throbbing so hard. He wants it. He’s dreamt about it, fantasized about it, drooled over that ass so many times, and right now his fevered imagination is throwing everything he’s ever thought or imagined at him in technicolor surround sound. 

Peter’s voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You’re not a rapist, Wade. Needing this and asking me for this doesn’t make you a rapist. I’m saying yes. You aren’t forcing me to do anything.” 

“You don’t want it,” Wade’s voice is a hoarse rasp. He’s struggling to hold back tears. Peter’s generosity is overwhelming and all it’s doing is forcing the bubble of guilt in Wade’s throat bigger with every offer Peter makes. 

“I want to make you feel good.” 

Wade tries unsuccessfully to strangle down the sob at Peter’s words. The tears are still dripping down the sides of his face and Wade tips his head back, exposing his neck as he chokes on his sobs. Peter leans forward and rests his face against Wade’s neck, shushing quietly and softly running his hand up and down Wade’s side. 

It doesn’t help as much as Peter probably thinks it will. Every slide of his hand has fire trailing up and down Wade’s side, and it’s quickly tipping the scales from intense pleasure and into sharp overstimulation. 

At the next slide down his side Wade twitches. “Please,” the word escapes his throat on a sob. 

Peter opens his mouth against Wade’s neck and sucks a biting kiss at the word. 

“Fuck, Peter!” Wade cries out in surprise.

“Sorry,” Peter lifts his head and smiles, unrepentant. The smile doesn’t stick around though, Peter’s mouth quickly settling back into serious lines. “The same goes for you, you know. I don’t want to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Wade finally lets his eyes meet Peter’s. He bites at his lip for a moment before sighing. “I want it. That’s the problem, okay? I’ve wanted this so badly but I don’t want you to do this just because I’m hurting!” 

“I want to make you feel good.” Peter says the words against Wade’s mouth before he nips at Wade’s lip. “Let me kiss you again?” he asks. 

Wade’s answer is to press up into Peter’s mouth in a deep kiss and the sensation has his thoughts scattering. He can feel Peter moving against him but it’s hard to pay attention to anything but the feel of Peter’s lips moving against his, and the warmth of their breath mingling between them. 

Peter’s mouth opens and he slides his tongue along Wade’s lower lip. Peter’s taste explodes over Wade’s senses and he deepens the kiss, opening his mouth and sucking Peter in. His breath is coming in pants, and he can’t help how his hips are starting to lightly undulate against Peter’s stomach. Peter settles in closer with a soft moan. 

Wade doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing before Peter pulls back, sitting up and grasping Wade’s cock with a slick hand. 

“Shit!” Wade’s almost embarrassed at how squeaky his voice sounds as he almost shrieks the word. 

“Will you fuck me?” Peter asks, licking over his bottom lip. 

“Shit, shit!” Wade repeats, thrusting up against Peter’s hand. “Fuck—I mean, what?” 

Peter grins and slides his hand over Wade’s cock once before gripping the base firmly. “Will you please fuck me?” 

“Dirty pool, baby boy,” Wade gasps. Peter’s grip has pressure building fast in Wade’s balls. It’s impossible to think through the haze of the curse and the pleasure burning through his body, but—Peter’s asked for this twice. That’s gotta be enough of a yes, right? 

Peter squeezes just a little bit harder. Wade whines and fights not to let his eyes roll up in his head. “Yes!” Wade finally bursts out. “Fuck, please! Yes, I want it!”

Peter is instantly moving up on his knees and setting the head of Wade’s cock against his entrance. Shocked, Wade grips at his hips. “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t you need lube? Prep? Something?” 

“Nope,” Peter chirps, sounding far too pleased with himself. “What do you think I was doing during all the kissing?” 

Wade gapes at him. “I don’t know, I was busy with the kissing!”

Peter just hums and wiggles his hips. The head of Wade’s cock slips over his entrance, warm and wet and open. Wade’s grip loosens and Peter takes advantage, immediately pressing down and taking Wade into himself. Gritting his teeth, Wade struggles not to thrust up. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Wade chants as Peter keeps inching his way down, every now and then pulling up a little just to slip even further down onto Wade. “Ah, fuck, Pete, I’m gonna be the fastest draw in history, goddamn.” 

He watches reverently as Peter lets his head fall back and settles his ass more firmly in Wade’s lap with a small laugh. 

“Evidence shows you’ll be able to keep it up for me.” Peter lets his head tip to the side and closes his eyes as he starts to move on Wade. 

The hot slick drag is perfect, perfect, perfect and Wade slips his hands around Peter’s hips and grabs his ass, kneading at it as Peter moves. “Fuuuuck,” he drags out the word. “Your ass is even more perfect out of the suit, Spidey, I swear.” 

“Let go.” 

Peter’s breathy words are the trigger Wade needs and he lets himself grab that perfect ass and thrust up hard. A sharp grunt punches out of Peter, and he clenches down. 

“Shit,” Wade hisses and repeats the motion. Peter’s cry is music to his ears and Wade lets go, lets the sharp pleasure overwhelm him. One, two, three more hard thrusts and that’s it. Orgasm sears through his balls and white noise fills his ears and he clenches his eyes shut. His body keeps moving without his input, stuttering up into the tight heat of Peter. 

The pleasure and screaming need are both still pounding through his body. The orgasm barely takes the edge off. 

“Fuck,  _ fuck, _ Peter, it’s not enough. Can I— can I—” Wade turns frantic eyes up to Peter’s face. Peter’s got his head tilted back and his eyes closed, and he’s making little high pitched whining sounds every time Wade thrusts up into him. 

“What?” Peter blinks down at Wade. 

Wade slows his pace but can’t bring himself to stop, clenching his hands again and again around Peter’s hips. “Can I turn you over, can I— Fuck, Peter, please, I need more,  _ please.” _

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, you can.” 

Wade barely waits for the words to be out of Peter’s mouth, flipping them over quickly. The motion pulls him out of Peter and he scrambles to reposition. His hard thrust draws a shout out of Peter and he grabs both legs wrapped around his waist and pulls them over his arms, leaning down and drawing Peter into a frantic kiss. 

It’s sloppy and wet, both of them panting into each other’s mouths as Wade grinds down in quick, shallow thrusts. Peter’s whining breaths start up again and it serves to wind Wade’s euphoria higher and he leans into Peter’s legs, hitching them up higher and dragging his mouth down to suck at the skin over his throat. The skin vibrates against Wade’s mouth with every whine. 

Wade has Peter’s knees pressed up against his ears now and it’s just so fucking hot the way that Peter just… takes it, letting Wade fold him into a pretzel and moaning for more. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ fuck yes, Peter,  _ fuck!” Wade chants against Peter’s neck. 

The pressure is building and building with every thrust, pleasure screaming through every cell of his body and he doesn’t know if he could stop for anything right now. Luckily for him, Peter isn’t doing anything to discourage him. In fact, his hands are digging into Wade’s hips hard enough that Wade’s kind of hoping the bruises might stick around long enough to admire them. 

Peter suddenly cries out, clenching down hard around Wade’s dick and erupting between their bodies. “Wade! Ah, yeah, come on, don’t stop.” 

Wade hears the words but it’s like they’re coming from underwater. There’s a roaring in his ears and his body is working without his input, pistoning into Peter’s spasming body. It still feels good, more than good, but the pressure building along his spine is starting to turn into a stabbing pain. 

He doesn’t stop, he can’t stop; pleasure and pain are coursing through him in equal measure now, more and more and more and then—

Orgasm hits him like a goddamn falling building. It’s stronger than anything else he’s felt in any memory he’s still got access to. 

The pleasure blinds him, the roaring in his ears overwhelming every other sound. The second the pleasure starts to ebb, though, the pain rises up to take its place, crashing over him a wave. He doesn’t have any time to do more than gasp out Peter’s name when his eyes roll up in his head and blackness washes over him. 

* * *

“Wade? Are you awake?  _ Wade?” _

Wade blinks up at Peter’s frantic face, letting the words wash over him. It takes a minute for the words to make sense. There’s a drum beat going crazy against his skull and his body feels heavy and achy. “What?”

“Wade, oh my gosh!” 

“Oh shit, Peter.” 

“What?” Peter’s frantic face relaxes into confusion. 

“I passed out on top of you!” 

Those words bring the manic energy back into Peter’s face. “No!” he shouts. “You  _ died _ on top of me! That is not the same as passing out and I’m completely not okay with it, Wade. That’s never okay, no matter the situation but definitely not with my knees on my shoulders! Okay, I’m not ashamed to admit I panicked, I might have thrown you a little bit, but I was freaking out, okay? This— this— you—”

Peter gets louder and more frantic with every word out of his mouth. The boxes take this chance to inform Wade that he’s a total failure, traumatizing Peter like that. Wade twitches and grimaces, pressing a hand against his head. 

He lifts his hands and presses against Peter, pushing him back enough to sit up. Peter hadn’t been exaggerating about throwing Wade off him. They’re across the room from the bed, sitting on the floor next to a Wade-shaped dent in the wall. 

“You got some good air on that shove,” Wade muses.

That sets Peter off again. 

“No,  _ no,  _ this is not a joking matter,” he insists. “What was that witch’s name? I need to go to Strange—” 

“Wait, what? Nonono, we are not doing that,” Wade interrupts as soon as he realizes what Peter intends to do. 

Peter glares. “Yes, we are.”

“No, why would we do that?” 

“Because she tortured you!” 

Wade scrambles to his feet, shaking his head and backing up until the back of his knees hit the bed and he falls onto his butt. “No, that wasn’t—-I’m not—can’t we just let it go?”

“Really, Wade? Aren’t you usually the one chomping at the bit to get even? I assumed you would wanna go after her the second you woke up.”

Wade just stares at Peter. The boxes have started up their inevitable sneering. He hadn’t even noticed them quiet down, but now that they’re back their digs seem all-the-more vicious. Wade isn’t worth all this righteous anger pouring out of Peter. He just gapes at Peter, opening and closing his mouth fruitlessly until his confusion erupts out of him in a torrent of angry words. “I mean, yeah! But why do you even care? I raped you! You barely like me most of the time, and I knew that and made you have sex with me anyway, and  _ I am a rapist _ !” 

He cringes as Peter’s face crumples. “You still think that?” Peter asks quietly. “I thought I had made it clear. No. In absolutely no way are you a rapist.” 

He moves closer to Wade with each word, and Wade scrambles off the bed and backs away. Peter reaches out as Wade’s back hits the wall. He can’t help his flinch away. 

Peter stops at the flinch. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Wade bares his teeth and darts around Peter, heading for the bathroom and the clothing he knows is in there. The curse is gone, he can cover up his skin again. He has no idea how Peter was looking at him without flinching but Wade is more than done letting him look. 

He manages to walk down the hallway without running into a single wall (at least he’s got that going for him!), turning the corner into the bathroom without incident. The frustrated anger and self-hatred raging through him make him want to hide out forever, but despite that, he’s quick to yank on the sweatpants and hoodie. 

Peter’s still in the bedroom when he gets back. He’s slipped back into his suit but he’s toying with his mask in his hand when Wade walks in. His face brightens as he looks up. “I figured you were going to ignore me now.” 

Wade crosses his arms and looks away, fidgeting. “I can’t have this conversation naked.” 

Peter stands up. “You’re not a rapist, Wade.”

Wade twitches at the instant jeering from his boxes. He doesn’t need their help, though, he knows Peter’s words are a lie. “Just…” Wade sighs and finally looks at Peter. He’s closer than Wade had expected and he fights himself not to step back. “Just let it go, Spidey. I’m fine now, the curse is broken, and… just... we’ll just chalk it up to a friend helping a friend, okay?”

Peter shuffles nervously and his eyes dart over Wade’s face. After a couple moments of silence, he seems to come to a decision and a soft smile stretches over Peter’s face and he reaches out, brushing his fingers over Wade’s shoulder. “Can I kiss you?” 

Wade blinks in shock. “What?” 

“I’ve thought of you as my friend for a long time. Maybe we can try a little more than friends now?” 

“I— You— What?” Wade stutters, eyes darting down to Peter’s smiling mouth. 

Peter leans forward and hovers over Wade’s mouth, hesitating. Wade decides for him and slides their mouths together in a gentle kiss. 

Wade pulls back, returning the smile. “Maybe we should thank that witch instead of getting her punished.” 

An affronted look instantly overtakes Peter’s face at Wade’s smirking words. “Absolutely not!” 

Wade interrupts Peter’s incipient rant with a kiss before he can really build up any steam. His voice cuts off with a muffled squeak. 

“I’m not letting this go,” he mumbles against Wade’s mouth, before leaning into the kiss. 

  
  



End file.
